There are those who dream their lives away <br />Down at the Greasy Spoon Cafe <br />Where the tea's like mud the spoon stands up in <br />And the coffee leads to an early coffin. <br /> <br />Herein, with my nostalgia for smells, I'd <br />Happily get high on all things fried; <br />For what's on offer here's rasher than bacon, <br />There's always some ingredient to egg you on. <br /> <br />Oh, ketch-up smeared like blood across the meal <br />That's something undefined but ready to congeal. <br />Oh, cholesterol-clogged up stuff; but then who cares <br />When you can die far sooner climbing up the stairs? <br /> <br />So what if the cutlery's here's less than clean? <br />At least the servings are never mean; <br />Health fiends might say it's much like hell <br />But the Greasy Spoon Cafe suits me well. <br /> <br />I love that tolerated tramp who sits all day <br />With a mug of tea for which he'll never pay. <br />And the baglady, whose past is all her wealth, <br />Who spends all night here talking to herself. <br /> <br />I love the rough-daubed edges that convey <br />Squalor - that's the Greasy Spoon Cafe - <br />The stodge, the leftovers and the fat, <br />The gristle and rind fit only for the cat. <br /> <br />And, of course, it is the grease, the fame <br />Of which lends the place its memorable name: <br />It coats the walls, floats on all you drink, <br />It lubricates the mind and helps you think, <br /> <br />It smothers all you chance to eat, <br />In pools it gathers at your feet, <br />When you come and dream your life away <br />Down at the Greasy Spoon cafe.<br /><br />Paul Lester<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/down-at-the-greasy-spoon-cafe/
